


Hollywood Waltz

by milokno



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24406606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milokno/pseuds/milokno
Summary: The year is 1975.Jack McLoughlin is a Hollywood superstar. Daniel Condren is the detective investigating the death threats he's been receiving.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48





	Hollywood Waltz

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by [greenspyarts](https://greenspyarts.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! If you haven't already, you should check them out. They post really cool art.
> 
> I have a [tumblr](https://milo-kno.tumblr.com/), too!!
> 
> \- Miles

##### Thursday, June 19th, 1975

For what felt like the thousandth time in the last month, Dan got to work an hour late. 

He’d slept in again. And while accidentally sleeping in should be something that he expects by now, what with how commonplace it is for him to sleep straight through his alarm, it had sent him into a panic, nonetheless. He had thrown on the first decent looking clothes he could find, regardless of whether or not they matched. He’d had no time to take a shower, either, so his hair is greasy and unbrushed, and he was sure that his breath, putrid as it must be, could kill. 

If it was even possible, sleeping in and not having enough time to take a shower or brush his teeth was hardly the worst thing to have happened to him this morning. No, the thing that nearly brought him to tears at half-past nine in the morning was that, in his hurry to get out the door, he hadn’t been able to have any coffee. 

What the hell had he done to deserve that? 

Even a lifetime’s worth of sins wouldn’t have warranted making him go an already shit morning without any caffeine. 

As he drove, his bangs kept falling into his eyes. He had to keep pushing them back periodically so he could see the road. They’d fall back over his eyes the moment he put his hand back onto the steering wheel, and the cycle would repeat. He’d nearly gotten into an accident on the I-10, but unfortunately he made it to work unscathed and still very much alive. 

Once he’d parked in front of Parker Center, it took him another five minutes to drag himself out of his car. The big, white building always seemed to glare down at him, like it knows something about him that even he doesn’t. He glares back, through the purple-tinted aviator sunglasses he’s wearing. 

The car door slams behind him. 

Kevin O’Reilly, who works in the Gang and Narcotics Division, is sitting at his desk, which is three or four rows down the room from Dan’s. The other man’s got his head tilted backwards so he can stare at Dan as he walks past. His usual shit-eating grin is already beginning to spread itself across his lips, like it always does when the two of them talk. 

When he speaks, the smirk only grows wider, “Good luck, Condren.” 

Without slowing down at all, Dan says, “Go fuck yourself, too, O’Reilly.” 

The other detective laughs. It’s a hearty, genuine sort of noise, though it’s closer to cackling than anything else. 

If Dan can get to his desk without making too much of a scene, it’s possible that Nagle won’t notice that he’s late again. Even though this morning may have started out in a panicked frenzy, maybe he won’t have to be lectured about what time he’s _supposed_ to come into work, and maybe, if he’s really lucky, he’ll get an easy case. His fingers cross at his side as he walks in hopes that he’ll get to investigate the murder of another middle-aged woman, found dead in her apartment last night, no doubt killed by her estranged ex-lover. Maybe today will be nice and slow. Maybe today— 

His feet stop moving. He’s a good ten feet away from his desk. He blinks a few times before attempting to get his eyes to focus on the man standing with his back to him. It takes Dan a moment longer that it should for him to realize who’s leaning over his Steelcase desk. His eyes flicker down to the man’s hands, which are flipping through the coffee-stained pages of the notebook he keeps on his desk. His mouth falls open before he can stop himself. 

The words come out in a growl, “What the fuck are you doing?” 

He recognizes the voice, loud as it is, as his own. The moment the words leave his lips, Dan presses his eyes shut tight. He knows, long before he opens them, that the whole office will be staring at the two of them when he finally musters up what little dignity he’s got left to peel back his eyelids. 

So much for having a good day. 

After what must’ve been years, his eyes flutter open. 

While his eyes were closed, Jack McLoughlin turned his body so that the two of them are facing each other. Behind him, on the desk, Dan’s notebook is still lying face-up. The pages, covered in his own handwriting, which he imagines share a likeness to Egyptian hieroglyphics, are exposed to the stuffy, humid air of the office. He’s not even trying to hide the fact that he’d been snooping through his things. 

He’s uncertain when he’d started to glare at the other man, but, to his surprise, McLoughlin doesn’t seem deterred by it. If anything, he seems almost excited. His pink lips press together in a twisted smirk, and Dan watches as he smooths down the fabric of his emerald green suit jacket with his hands. There are rings on nearly every single one of his fingers, and, from the looks of it, even the cheapest one could pay off Dan’s entire mortgage. 

McLoughlin, with that grin still on his lips, extends a hand towards him, “I’m glad to see you finally came into work, Officer.” 

“What are you doing at my desk?” Dan doesn’t wait for an answer. His shoulder knocks into the other man’s as he pushes past him. He opens one of the desk drawers, slides the notebook inside, and slams it shut with a resounding _smack_. 

When he looks back up, McLoughlin’s standing right beside him. His hand is lying flat on Dan’s desk, and his ring-covered fingers are tapping against the wood rhythmically. He looks around the office quickly, as though he was looking for someone, before directing his attention back to Dan. When he speaks, his voice is quiet, “I’ve been receiving threats.” 

“I work homicide. I don’t deal with threats.” He scoffs, turning so they are face-to-face, and he motions broadly at the other side of the room, “Go talk to Fischbach or Nestor.” 

Their eyes meet. The bags under McLoughlin’s electric blue eyes rival his own. “Your supervisor said you would help me.” 

God _fucking_ damn it. 

No. He’s not doing this today. He can’t do this right now. 

The expression on his face must be pretty bad because McLoughlin’s eyes are wide open. The smirk is no longer on his face, either, though Dan’s not sorry to see that go. 

He takes a few steps in the direction of Nagle’s office, which is in between his and O’Reilly’s desks. He stops, suddenly, and whips his head around to glare at McLoughlin, who’s eyes are still open so wide his eyeballs might pop out of his skull. He lifts a hand to point at his desk, growling, “Don’t touch anything.” 

He watches as the other man lifts up his hands in a sort of surrender. Another smile contorts his lips, though this one is smaller. He doesn’t speak, but he does nod his head slightly. Dan supposes that’s the best he’s going to get from a guy like Jack McLoughlin. 

David Nagle doesn’t look up from the file on his desk until after Dan slams the door of his office behind him. The moment their eyes meet, he lifts the _World’s Greatest Boss_ that someone, though Dan can’t recall who, got him for Christmas two years ago and takes a long sip of his coffee. 

Nagle opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, Dan asks, “What the hell are you doing to me, David?” 

He shrugs his shoulders, letting out a breath as he says, “Fischbach won’t work with him.” He gestures with the hand not holding onto his coffee mug, “The two of ‘em were fighting like cats and dogs, and, Lord above, if Nestor hadn’t torn ‘em apart when he did the whole office would’ve been turning their badges in.” 

“But couldn’t you have given this case to O’Reilly?” There’s desperation clinging to each of his words like sap, “You know better than anybody what I think of Mr. Hollywood back there.” 

“You’ve only just met him this morning.” Nagle chuckles darkly into his coffee, “For all you know, he could be a delight.” 

“Anybody else? David, please. Isn’t there anybody else?” 

Nagle slams his mug onto his desk so hard that Dan’s actually worried for a moment that it might’ve shattered. “This is the third time you’ve been late this week, Condren. Don’t think I didn’t notice.” He lets out another sigh, rubbing a hand over his face like he wants a new one. “You’re my best detective. I can’t have you breaking on me, not yet.” 

Before Dan can get the words to come out of his mouth, the other man continues, “Take this case. _Please_. If you don’t, you’re going to find yourself unemployed.” 

— 

McLoughlin is still there when Dan comes sulking out of Nagle’s office. 

He’s sitting on the swivel chair at Dan’s desk. His feet are propped up on the desk, legs crossed at the ankle, with both his hands tucked behind his head. His eyes are closed, and although he doesn’t open them when he hears the other man walking towards him, that same smirk from earlier is curling his lips again. 

McLoughlin cracks open an eye to look at him when he speaks, “My name is Detective Daniel Condren.” As the words leave him, Dan forces his hand towards him. 

Without standing up, McLoughlin moves one of his hands from behind his head to shake the detective’s hand. He says, “McLoughlin.” 

He stands from the chair when Dan’s hand continues to squeeze his own. Had his grip been any tighter, he might’ve actually broken his hand. He sits down on the chair beside Dan’s desk begrudgingly, as though he hadn’t expected that he’d have to move. 

For all he knows, he really had expected Dan to let him stay on his chair. 

Dan pulls his notebook out from the drawer he’d stuffed it into a few moments ago. He grabs a pen from off his desk and plops himself down onto his chair. He opens the notebook to a blank page and looks up at him. 

McLoughlin says, “These aren’t my usual death threats, Officer.” 

“Yeah— and what makes these so different?” 

He’s rubbing at the ring on his middle finger gently. After a moment of silence, he speaks. His voice is so quiet, Dan can hardly hear him. 

“They knew my name.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> \- Miles


End file.
